


Whatever You Say

by inkblot_fiend



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, past Arabella/Jonathan, the pillar of darkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 15:30:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4630488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkblot_fiend/pseuds/inkblot_fiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan Strange has a very well developed palate. Mr Norrell is a man of simpler tastes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever You Say

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Keeveet-Talks as part of the Society of Magicians Auction!

“I have an idea.”

Inwardly, Mr Norrell groaned. Mr Strange's ideas, whilst often interesting, would usually require so much effort on both their parts that when it was all over Mr Norrell would be tired and uncertain that it had really been worth it. Weighed against his current occupation, which was to say reading in his favourite armchair in front of a ghostly fire, he did not feel the expected thrill of anticipation, but rather a dull sense of dread.

Take for instance the evening Mr Strange had declared they should pretend to be other people. Mr Norrell had taken a long time to warm up to this idea, and had subsequently proved to be a very poor play-actor. He could not banish his self-awareness for long enough to get into the role, which had resulted in a lot of red-faced mumbling. Fortunately for both of them Jonathan had done the thing admirably, putting on such a demure and coy act that Norrell could well believe he was the virgin stable-boy and Norrell the lecherous viscount set on his despoilment, at least for long enough to finally rid Strange of his pretend virtue.

Yes, it had ended well, but the memory of everything leading up to the act was best forgotten. Mr Norrell did not see why they could not simply have gone straight to the despoiling and not muddied the water with make-believe.

Oh! And there there had been the afternoon of the hot wax, which had only served to make Norrell very burned and very unhappy, and Strange to ponder if there was some key difference between candles in England and in faerie, because he could not remember Arabella taking on so. In fact, quite the opposite!

To which Norrell had replied, in rather stern tones, that he was _not_ Arabella and Jonathan would cease all comparison immediately or else commit himself to never receiving so much as a suggestive glance from Mr Norrell from that day forth. Strange had apologised with kisses and with his hand firm and fast on Norrell's prick, and they had said no more about it.

“I would like to tie you up,” said Jonathan, holding out a length of shimmering silk rope for Norrell's inspection.

He glanced up from his book and quickly away, feeling heat bloom on his cheeks. “I would politely decline,” he said.

Norrell had seen a similar expression of disappointment on Strange's face once before, on that morning some weeks ago when he had tried to refuse smacking Jonathan like a naughty child. Strange had pouted and set about describing how much they might both enjoy it in such erotic detail that Norrell gave in and allowed Jonathan to drape himself over his lap. The first smack had been rather weakly given, and Jonathan had looked back over his shoulder, saying _you may go as hard as you like, Gilbert_ , knowing full well that Norrell tended to go a little weak at the knees when Jonathan used his Christian name. So Norrell had applied himself with more determination, smacking Jonathan's bare behind until it was red and warm to the touch and thoroughly distressing to behold.

Of course Jonathan had found the experience just as exhilarating as he had promised, letting out a series of full-throated moans and rubbing himself wantonly against Norrell's thighs. By the time he reached the tenth and final stroke Jonathan was shaking and gasping but Norrell could only wonder if he had any soothing creams nearby and worry that Jonathan would not be able to sit comfortably for a week.

Jonathan had turned in his arms and dragged him in to the perfect sort of kiss, hungry and desperate, which had done more to interest Norrell's nether regions than anything that had preceded it. Once they had finished each other with their hands, Norrell had gone directly to the bureau where he kept his medicines and found a pleasant unction to ease Jonathan's suffering. This had caused Jonathan to laugh and kiss Norrell's forehead, which was a very satisfactory sort of conclusion.

In the present moment, Norrell sighed. “I do not wish to be tied up,” he said firmly. “I have the right to not be tied up, sir!”

“Of course you do,” said Jonathan, still pouting, “But you might enjoy it!”

“That is a poor incentive, when I am already enjoying this book. It is a known quantity. Your scheme is more likely to turn out uncomfortable or embarrassing, so I will repeat: I do not wish you to tie me up.”

At that Norrell returned his full attention to his book and Jonathan deflated somewhat, flopping into the other armchair with some theatricality.

A few moments passed during which Norrell turned a page and Jonathan played the rope between his fingers. Norrell thought he was more likely scheming than sulking.

“You could tie _me_ up!”

Norrell flinched and hunched up a little in his chair. “No, Jonathan!”

“But I already know that _I_ enjoy it,” Jonathan said cheerfully, “So it is far less of an unknown and therefore more likely to please you!”

“All I desire this afternoon is to sit quietly and read my book.” Norrell glared at Jonathan over the top of his reading glasses. “If you are determined to please me you may bring me a fresh cup of tea.”

His last cup sat untouched on a nearby table, having gone cold while he had grappled with a dense chapter of  _The Several Ages of Magick_ . It was overall a dull book, with little to recommend it save an alarmingly comprehensive section on the magical properties of ragwort.

Jonathan gave him an appalled look, as if wondering what sort of man would choose tea when sex and restraints were freely available. Norrell supposed that Jonathan had forgotten how little Norrell had enjoyed being blindfolded and laid on their bed so that he could be subject to Jonathan's whims, which seemed a very similar sort of exercise to the one presently on offer. He had spent the whole hour tensed and flinching from every unexpected touch of fingers or lips and had only truly relaxed when Jonathan had taken him into his mouth for a lovely, uninterrupted suckle. He thought how trying the whole process would be if he could not move his hands, or, worse yet! If Jonathan expected _him_ to deploy some measure of unpredictability!

“You needn't make those faces at me,” Norrell sighed.

“This is simply my face.” Jonathan's pout fell away as soon as he became aware of it. “Gilbert, I only wish to excite you.”

“Well, that is the most absurd thing you have ever said.” Norrell closed his book, accepting that Jonathan was in no mood to let him read properly. His tea would likely remain cold, too.

“There is simply no knowing how long we shall be together in this way.” Saying this, Jonathan rose and came to kneel beside Norrell. “And if the enchantment should end tomorrow and we return to England... why, we could not be half so free with our affection! I simply... I do not want to miss an experience because we did not think to explore it in time!”

Norrell blinked at Jonathan a few times, wondering if perhaps his friend had been replaced with a faerie imposter. “You would wish to continue? Outside of our predicament?”

“You would not?” Jonathan wore a certain surprise on his countenance, as if this possibility had not occurred to him until this exact moment.

“Well!” said Norrell, “That is, I had not thought that _you_ would desire such a thing, so I did not ever consider it.”

“Oh, Gilbert.” Jonathan smiled his toothiest smile and took Norrell's hands in his own. He kissed the knuckles one by one and elaborated no further on the point, though it seemed to Norrell that some of Jonathan's usual mania in these matters had receded. A tension he had not even been aware of had broken. At his feet Jonathan let out a contented sigh, as if he had recognised the same phenomenon.

These soft attentions were more warming than tea, and the depth of affection Norrell felt whenever Jonathan glanced up through his wild hair gave him cause to breathe a little harder and shift in his chair.

“Perhaps you should tell me,” Jonathan said as he turned over Norrell's hands to kiss his wrists, “What you would like.”

There were any number of shades of pink in the faerie realms they had visited. The pink of certain flowers, certain fruits, even certain skies; but none was as desperate or anxious a pink as the shade that Norrell turned at this question. He spluttered a little, but could form no sensible words. He had never had to speak of any of it before – Jonathan had led the way from the start, seeing as he was so much more experienced and so much less likely to give the whole thing up if something went a little sideways.

Jonathan hummed against his wrist and Norrell fought to hold back an undignified little gasp. “Tell me.”

“A cup of tea,” Norrell said, though it came out more breathless than he would have liked. “Perhaps... perhaps a kiss?”

“I believe those are very reasonable demands,” Jonathan said. “Which would you like first?”

After a moment of consideration Norrell said, “The kiss.”

Jonathan gave a solemn nod and raised himself up to kiss Norrell, a simple caress of lips that shot through him and made him clutch at Jonathan's waistcoat most forcefully.

Pulling back, Jonathan said, “What else?”

Tea was certainly still appealing, he thought, but then so was Jonathan, his face so open and his hands so kind. “If I am not to be permitted to work I would thank you to take me to bed,” he said, smiling a little to show he harboured no serious resentment.

Jonathan stood and offered him a hand, which Norrell took. He allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and clutched himself to Jonathan's chest so that they could kiss again.

Norrell found that, now he had begun, it was easier than it had ever been previously to voice his innermost thoughts. “Once there, I would … I would like to continue kissing for a time, as it is something I enjoy very much.”

Jonathan made a noise that might be best described as a whimper as he put his face into the crook of Norrell's neck and mouthed at his collar.

“If... that is, when you can stand it no more, I would like you to use your mouth upon me. And then I, I will do the same for you.” Norrell was dimly aware that he was still blushing, but the pressure of Jonathan's body against his own, the quickening of his breath and the tight grip of hands on his hips were enough to let him believe he had not made a complete ass of himself and therefore conclude, “If all that is acceptable to you, of course.”

“My dear Gilbert,” Jonathan said, pulling back just enough to let their eyes meet, “Whatever you say.”

For the first time in this particular phase of their acquaintance it was Norrell who led the way, pulling Jonathan along by the hand towards their bedroom. He saw the fluttering of the rope in Jonathan's other hand, and very graciously did not make him leave it behind. Perhaps they could find some use for it, he thought as he shut their door behind him. Later, though. Much later. There was, after all, plenty of time.

 


End file.
